Panna Cotta
by XaraYunn
Summary: What happens to cheaters aside from going to hell? A cold Italian dessert made with double cream and often served with syrup, particularly caramel-panna cotta? Isn't love just a beautifully ugly, gory thing?


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NOTE: Names: Tenshin Nagakami, Shoko Irozumi, Shikaze Fukugawa

CHAPTER FOUR: PANNA COTTA

Heavy footfalls are the only sound slapping on the hard, wet concrete. Moving at a steady pace, a small band of eight wander cautiously through the maze smelling-no, that would be an understatement-_reeking_ of a pungent aftertaste.

_'So naive… how stupid Players could be! They'll play right into my hands without me having to lift a finger. Pathetic!'_

A voice cackles hysterically, rebounding off the walls and ricocheting in the form of shrill notes scratched on a blackboard with bare nails. They burn right through the Players' ears, piercing their minds with a thousand needles and scattering the thoughts in a motley and kaleidoscopic haze.

"Tenshin…do you think this is a trap?"

A raven with streaks of blue littered in lines here and there on her hair shuffles closer to a boy about her age with brown hair, though not in the way a scared child would.

"Relax Shoko, we've cheated our way through the first six days; we'll do the same again. We just have to finish the mission and we're home free. Hello to bare alley walls and rusty car doors waiting to be drowned in paint!"

Undignified snorts issue from a boy with a low ponytail hanging at the nape of his neck and numberless rings and tattoos on his fingers.

"Besides, what kind of fucked up Reaper would send us a mission as easy as this:

'_You are invited to have tea with the Conductor. Reach the Shibuya River and find the designated room. Time limit is one hundred-twenty minutes. Failure will result to erasure.'_

"Only some fucked-up asshole would sent us shit like that, that we won't even need to cheat! It's a walk in the park; we just drink nasty stuff and eat crumbly old people shit and we're done! Fuck, I could even kill the Conductor and take his place! This hellhole might be better!"

Seven others burst in laughter, filling the wide expanse around them with sound magnified by the blood-tainted walls that have long since dried up. The boy known as Tenshin finishes with a fit of chuckles before turning to the tattoo-fingered gangster, and grins at him widely.

"You always did have a good sense of humour, Shikaze."

Remains of what seems to be bones and decaying meat is pulverised and squashed beneath their feet, and they scurry along with nothing but empty heads filled with the most devious thoughts.

(~*~)

Meanwhile the soft sound of tender fingertips drumming patiently on a wooden arm rest barely resounds in another room. With the most accurate posture anyone could ever imagine, the thin boy sits, arrogance evident and stance commanding respect. Legs are crossed primly at the ankles, and knees are slanted, pointing towards one direction. A smile is stitched across his face, placid and showing no sign of tiredness nor the slightest hint of vexation. The ebony stockings covering his skin under a diaphanous film of cloth and laces crossing all over the dress and inflating the petticoat along with its many coarse layers doesn't seem to peeve him at all.

Despite being clothed head to toe with silk and satin fabrics, he doesn't break a sweat and his eyes are set on the huge oaken door right across the room.

Everything is set; the chairs are neatly placed in, intricately crafted doilies and an equally labyrinthine tablecloth are laid without a crease, and all the silverware, plates, and other various articles needed for the tea party are spaced evenly between one another. Not even the chunked heels dare to make a sound against the concrete. He just waits, pallid lips stretched into a faint smile, for the moment they've all been waiting for.

(~*~)

Right in front of the Rubicon, the Player now known as Shikaze raises a hand to stop the group.

"What now?" Shoko asks almost irritatedly.

Turning to a small gap at the left that could've been easily overlooked or passed off as one of those tightrope kind of paths, he smirks widely. He scavenges through both of his pockets and pulls out a small golden pin adorned by a key with a skull on the head of it. Walking over to the wall, he presses the tiny object on the invisible barrier. The lustrous, hexagonally designed film disperses, like paper easily dissolved into black ashes by fire.

Tenshin waves a hand in a gesture to proceed, and they shift into a single file in a way that could be likened to a robot's. With Shikaze in the lead, followed by Tenshin, then Shoko and the others, they move. Flat against the wall, the Players inch across the space marginally wider than five inches, balanced enough not to slip into the ghastly, uninviting, barf-coloured porridge called a river. They round a corner going left again, and with a few more steps they reach a wide expanse of ground. Upon reaching the bank they resume the formation of a microscopic mob, if one would look from afar, and tarry on.

After a few minutes of wandering through winding corridors smelling stronger and stronger of a certain muddled burgundy with a taste that could be likened to copper, a huge oaken door appears. Its red color embellished with untarnished gold in the form of dragons and majestic creatures obviously signifies that it guards the very room sought by the group. Without wasting another beat Shoko pushes them aside to grab the stocky rings and swing the doors open.

At the head of the table sits the almost emaciated boy, unperturbed beyond all comprehension.

"Oh hello, it's nice to finally meet you. Please, do take a seat. Master would say that you were quite…petulant in your entrance, but let us put that aside for now, shall we?"

The notes almost made of clear bells ringing finally diffuses the room's eerie silence.

He cocks his head sideways when the Players stay still, letting strands of orange shade some parts of his face. At the angle it's tilted, the fringe tickling his bare and nearly paper-white shoulders and neck only makes him creepier. They move to take their places, making the ginger's smile almost rip his face in half before uprighting his position again. All eyes are turned to him, and the wide blue eyes scan the whole room in feigned innocence.

In a short while the rustle of gossamer cloth could be heard accompanied by a chair scraping the floor loudly.

"Do pardon me for my rudeness; My name is Sakuraba Neku, and as you all know I am the Conductor. I am aware that I do look quite the scraggy type for the position, but Master always says I look more svelte to him. Thank you all for coming."

He finishes in a light, nearly spectral giggle before taking his seat again and setting a practiced look of innocuousness on his beautiful, feminine-like face.

_"Just who the hell IS this kid?! Is this some kind of sick, fucked-up joke of the real Conductor? That 'boy' even swoons every time he mentions something about his 'Master'-this is insane!"_

A thousand thoughts are running through Tenshin's head as he gazes intently at the Conductor as if to try figuring it all out.

"Now, now, Nagakami-kun, isn't it a little bit rude to stare and pay no attention when someone is speaking?"

His eyes widen by a mile and the hairs on his neck prickle up when he feels hot, blood-curdling breaths dancing in his ear and he realizes that the Conductor is no longer where he was moments ago. His eyes dart around in a danse macabre, eyeing his equally petrified team mates for any kind of help as hands slowly crawl onto his shoulders and squeeze them gently, but never letting go.

For a moment, the same soft fingers sweep on his neck lightly like smoke, but they feel as if they've sliced his skin so roughly with a broken shard of glass. The fingers grip tighter and tighter, constricting as if spasmed around the brunette's poor aching shoulders until Tenshin couldn't feel it anymore under the thin layer of his shirt.

"Oh my, I'm being such a terrible host; you must be hungry after coming all this way for the mission. Silly, silly me; maybe after you've had your fill you could watch your manners."

The redhead giggles yet again, addressing everyone with a look in his eyes that spelled shattered innocence and an intent for a bloodbath.

The digits ensnare the boy's shoulders, making them too numb to feel or move already that he was sure there were livid marks to testify his potential violence towards anyone, especially _cheaters._ With a snap and a crack the pressure inflicted finally makes the bones break, earning a cry of pain from the boy but a sigh of contentment from the Conductor.

Shoko stirs in her seat, as if ready to attack at the right moment, but the supposed ethereal being in the form of a teenager whips his head to regard her with a sickening smile.

"Don't worry, _you'll be next if you like._"

He cackles murderously, looking at them all with a probing and insane glint in the depths of his bright sapphire eyes. Unceasing from his laughter that's now escalated to the volume of a speaker on full blast, he grabs the sides of the boy's head, combing through the messy, damp strands before pausing in his glee to say something.

The brunette is almost on the verge of pleading, terrified beyond anything and his face a plain sign that what his assailant is doing has brought the word traumatising to a whole new level. His breathing is at a hundred miles per hour, and sweat rolls off his face, the perfect picture of fear.

"Look at you all-so very _pathetic, _that it amuses me to no end. Thinking that you could outsmart my Master-_HOW DARE YOU!"_

His voice is forced to be maxed out even louder, and it surprisingly does. He tangles his fingers even deeper into the other teen's hair, and he laughs maniacally as he twirls and pulls at the locks in a feeble effort to regain composure.

"You thought that you could cheat your way through and escape the eyes of the Composer, that you could slip past unnoticed like tiny worms; _well I'll_ _treat you like the worms you are if you want!"_

With that statement as his word, he twists the frail neck in all the wrong places, and with a snap and a loud pop it does the whole three hundred-sixty. They all stare agape, eyes nearly falling out of their sockets as the ginger shrieks the notes of his mocking laughter with bountiful ease. The sound of the muscle and sinew ripping apart easily like paper and his dress being splashed abundantly with blood replays over and over again in his mind, delighting his sadistic, morbid senses all over.

He walks over back to the head of the table with the dead head in hand, and brandishes it to them unabashedly. Raising it high, the blood drips on his face and into his welcome, wide-open mouth.

"You should've known that _this _is what happens to people who cheat Death; they deserve no less than that! Especially if you even try so as to utter a single _insult _about _my Master!_ _You NEVER even DESERVED to live!"_

He sticks his fingers into the head's sockets, whose eyes are still wide open, and he gorges out both eyeballs. The blood rains down its cheeks easily, its picture of crying no different from a glass overflowing to the brim. The Conductor eyes the 'treat' happily as if it were some sort of sickened version of a delightful panna cotta, and he devours them both whole, grinding them to smushed bits and letting the bitter juice leak out from the corners of his mouth before visibly swallowing the body parts.

For once Shikaze looks utterly disgusted and mortified, Shoko is about to break into tears, and all the other Players have all traces of smugness and confidence gone. He throws the head down on the table, and it rolls off a short distance before stopping just at the edge, nearly tipping over.

At this point the raven, fuelled by all anger she is holding in at the sight of her lover being killed mercilessly in her face, makes an attempt to stand up and release all her bottled up emotions on the boy with a cute, lacy headband sitting on his head.

But she finds that she could not twitch a single muscle, and she stifles back a gasp of horror, to which Neku is very much pleased.

"Don't get too excited sweetie, _I told you that you're next_~" he begins sweetly. "By the way," he turns to the general direction of the soon-to-be-dead party, "would anyone like some tea?"

Without even waiting for an answer, if any would even be given by the group, he is behind Shoko in a flash. She doesn't even mutter a sound before sharp, perfectly long nails rip through her leather jacket, through her midriff top, and right through her skin as expected. The feeling of every thread of fabric coming unraveled felt like the Conductor's nails were tearing second skin; the thought of death was pressed flush against Shoko, and knowing just that shook her to the core.

Only when the tiny blades sink through the first layer of skin does she feel Death's arms in a welcoming embrace. Deeper and deeper they slice through, boring holes into her muscle that to Neku was soft clay. The deep gashes spew the same liquid that's painted the same room thousands of times, percolating through the thick walls of nerves and fibers that made her back. They don't stop until they've touched her vertebral column.

So fragile, so breakable, and oh so delicious to break-how heavenly the sensation would be for him to break them into bits and let the pieces stick like sand on his fingers!

Smiling once more the same sneer that stretched farther than a glassglow smile, he clenches his fist around a huge area of skin, making Shoko scream in a song that's obviously his cup of tea. Without further ado, he pulls the meat and clothes right off, tearing a thick, crooked, and only slightly tapering line down her small back that felt so numb but at the same time like a whiplash of fire engulfing every part of her body.

The blood is spurting out of her back, sending the girl staggering on her knees and digging her own fingernails in her scalp as she screams in agony. The crimson substance quickly pools around her, bathing her in her own death, and staining the ginger's expensive shoes with his favorite color. To him the ear-piercing and heart-breaking sight isn't enough, so he grabs her by the shoulders harshly, mimicking what he did to Tenshin, and holds her up as he steps on the bottom part of her now exposed spinal column.

The heels easily crush the bones, arching her back at a sharp acute angle. A new juice spills out, the color of whitish-yellow and mixing with the blood everywhere.

Gruesome, pinkish clumps of meat slink out and onto the floor, lying like a dropped toy, followed by a plastic-thin organ sluggishly toppling over on top of the pile. Thin cords that he supposes were used to connect the vital pieces of meat he thought of as food are still intact with the internal body part, still desperately trying to sustain the already dead Shoko. It's such a sumptuous feast, so why bother to starve?

"Oops-How very maladroit of me to spill the tea; it's very unlikely, and Master will surely discipline me accordingly. But oh well, there's still more~"

He giggles uncontrollably, and carries the body high enough so that the deformed tailbone is right in front of his lips, and he slurps the liquid contentedly, all the while not taking his eyes off the group.

With thumb and forefinger he daintily pinches whatever is left inside the broken chain of bone belonging to the lifeless body.

"Would any of you like some? It tastes quite good, if I may say so."

He gestures to the string of bundled nerves in his hand while batting his long eyelashes.

When no one makes a move, he just shrugs his shapely shoulders before biting the tip and sucking it all like a long, fat noodle, chewing it only in a few bites before swallowing. He smirks widely, teeth dirtied only little by blood and bits of meat here and there. He then picks up the carcass of the ex-Player, combing her hair nicely before propping her up on the chair like a stuff toy in his tea party the best he could sans her backbone to support her.

One could just mistake her to be deep in thought, but the glassy eyes shaded by her hair gave away everything.

He blinks again, like he always does in his cute way before the gaze of his cerulean eyes could almost kill them by boring holes through their skulls.

"Now, _who would like to go next?_"

He chuckles mirthfully, in an incorporeal way, fixing his serpentinely decorated headband abundant with black laces just like his dress, the color of total submission.

But before he could say anything more the oaken sentinels creak to give way for entry.

Another teen who looked to be about sixteen stands by the doorway, diverting everyone's attention to the newcomer. His ashen-blonde locks waved at all the perfect points, and his bright violet eyes were just too striking to be missed. An ethereal glow is all about him, vituperative and oozing with an aura of turpitude towards anyone, particularly sinners. His simple but expensive garb only makes him look more dominating, with the blue button-down, dark wash jeans, and white shoes, and he regards the Conductor with a questioning, almost appalled look.

The carrot-top looks like his heart rose to his throat, and his wide eyes grow humongous as he rushes forward and drops on his knees, looking down on the ground like he was so unworthy.

"Ah!-Yoshiya-sama-you're here."

His voice is breathy and he bows down even lower, lips almost touching the ground in front of the boy he considers so holy. He takes a bony hand without looking up, and kisses the back of the alabaster-soft extremity slavishly. He proceeds to kiss the knuckles protruding from cold, remarkably smooth flesh, and he draws his lips over the white fingers, kissing the fingertips with soft pops and moistening them only little.

The ashen-blonde then manoeuvres his long digits to tilt the boy's chin upward, forcing those electrifying blue eyes to gaze straight into his castigating gaze. As if in a reply of approval, Yoshiya strokes his chin fondly, scratching it lightly with untrimmed fingernails. He races them all over the redhead's bony jaw, occasionally brushing his cheeks before passing them over the Conductor's lips once and putting his hand down.

"This isn't what I've been expecting; you never told me, dear."

The smile remains fixated on his face, and his hand wanders over to the soft strands of the boy's vibrant, sunset-colored hair. They slip through easily with every rake of the Composer's fingers, coaxing shivers to ascend and descend down Neku's delicate spine.

"Ah b-but Master-I-I just wanted to make you h-happy..." Tears start leaking through the corners of his eyes, dripping down along with his mascara to form blackened tears that he shed only for his Master.

From where he is kneeling the boy bows down easily, quivering from his soft sobbing but unwavering. His beautiful back with his vertebra jutting out slightly from it is exposed to Yoshiya, the laces not showing any form of hindrance either. What used to be a beguiling smile on the angel's features twists into an elated smirk, overflowing profusely with contentment. He places his hand on the boy's head, and much to Neku's surprise, angles it to look at his once more, stroking the ginger's face lovingly.

"I _am_ happy with you. I just didn't expect that you would go this far to please me. Tell me, Neku, will you be faithful enough to give me anything I desire?"

The Conductor's beautiful, shimmering, blue eyes look up, widening comically at the question directed to him. The tears have stopped trickling from his long eyelashes, and the only thing crowding his mind was his Master and his Master alone.

"Of course, Yoshiya-sama. Anything-I'll do anything for you, Master…"

The redhead's pasty, chapped lips part slightly, pink flesh poking out a little from the gap, and he slowly rises to his knees to seal his promise. The Composer bends down with divine grace, and he meets the boy's lips with his own.

The moment they touch a searing hot pain burns the ginger's lips, the warmth spreading through his mouth as Yoshiya's long, snake-like tongue sweeps through every part sensually, and his eyes flit like a broken shutter before staying closed. The strong, wet muscle glides over the ginger's own tongue, dancing and coiling around it dominantly. It earns a long, breathy moan from the Conductor, who is not at all violated by the taste of their saliva mixing together. With each circle rubbed on his tongue, Neku moans louder and louder, the sounds coming from deep down his throat that he'd gladly bare to Yoshiya. He slides the muscle over his Master's in an answer, toying with his submissively and passionately but never wanting to overpower.

He raises his bloody, porcelain hands, and he folds his arms around the Composer's back. In turn he is pulled closer, and he dutifully deepens the French kiss even more, slithering his tongue everywhere inside the other's mouth and letting his dominant suck and nip all he liked in order to satisfy him. The tip of the violet-eyed boy's tongue runs over hidden sensitive spots in his uke's mouth again and again, making him twitch in pleasure and moan uncontrollably. His ragged breathing is begging for Yoshiya to stop, but the music was too sweet for him to halt such delicious torture.

After a while of such blissful and vehement kissing, though, the angel allows himself to break off with a soft pop, slivers of saliva connecting them like fine silver-spun cobwebs and a thin film of it coating both their lips, mostly on the Conductor's distended, reddish ones. The carrot-top withdraws silently, whispering his words repeatedly and all the while not breaking his intent gaze on the ashen-blonde. He takes his Master's hand again gently, pressing his lips to it to affirm his dedication to the Composer.

"Now Neku," Yoshiya begins once his hand is put down. "I would like to be a...spectator in this little show that you've arranged."

Only a smile takes over the Conductor's face.

"Ah-anything for you, Master; yours is the front row if you please~"

He accepts his Master's bidding at once, unhesitant, as if he was under a hypnotic spell that he was bound to for eternity.

The Composer grins naughtily, placing a short kiss on the Conductor's lips temptingly and leaving him moaning and begging for more.

He just dismisses the ginger's impatience with a tiny wave of his finger, stalking back adroitly to the head of the table and taking his rightful position on the large, velvet-cushioned armchair that is now situated on an elevated platform a tad bit away from the table, giving an impression of a throne. His stance is perfectly dominating, not a single sign of weakness visible in his features; and that was something that just made Neku feel so vulnerable when he was in Yoshiya's presence.

"Ah, Yoshiya-sama, I'm so madly driven at how delighted Master would be with such an inferior, disobedient slave such as myself; I don't even deserve your attention or your effort in coming here for someone as pathetic as me who should only be trampled on like a rag used to wipe your feet."

The redhead, who unquestioningly followed him to his place kneels down and bows lowly in front of him, unceasingly showering him with praises and remarks on how a deplorable slave he was. Subsequently, he proceeds to take one of his feet and allow his lips to graze lightly on the tip of the white shoe stained a little by the blood the ethereal being strode on. All the while the Composer just smiles, thrilled at how yielding the boy was in his every action of utmost respect to him. He signals for the ginger to stand, and the boy does slowly, cowering at being in the presence of such a powerful being.

At his Master's beckoning, with the same lustful, enslaved look in his eyes, the slave reluctantly turns away to face the audience. His smile pulls at his lips even more than ever, twitching slightly in hopes of trying to keep control despite the intent desire of wanting to please his Master dearly. The murky depths of his sapphire orbs widen insanely, and he suddenly starts laughing uproariously. He snaps his head abruptly in the direction of the other raven, whose viridescent eyes are brimming slightly but showing no sign of fear.

Cadaverous fingers worn out since long ago from thick metal rings grip tightly on the insides of his shorts pocket, wanting to pull out the seams everywhere but instead focusing solely on a single white pin. The Conductor advances towards Shikaze languidly, like a predator circling its meal. Stopping beside the teen, he fingers the jaunty chin in his bloodied hands, tracing every bone protruding on his jaw. The digits want so much to just stop for a second and squeeze it just a little bit harder.

Stealthily he draws out a knife hidden in the lacy garter on his thigh, brushing the petticoat of his dress up casually to expose to Yoshiya just a tiny portion of his equally lacy, silken undergarments whose texture was no different from his white thighs. The sharpened blade glints faintly for a second as he brings it up, marvelling at how sharp it was and how appealing the preciseness of the knife invited him to slash his neck and let his Master suck him dry.

The murderer lets his hand wander over to the Player's cheek, the knife slinking into the gap between his lips, just at the corner where the tip stings the flesh slightly.

"Aww, why such a bored look? Are you not enjoying this little party? Perhaps we can do something to turn that frown upside down; you ought to smile a little more, don't you think?"

He digs the knife into the flesh, twisting it mercilessly while revelling in the screams issuing from his third victim. The blood starts spilling again, dripping onto his dress and soaking it further.

"Shhh…quiet down-everything will be all right in a little while."

The Conductor cradles the raven's head with one arm, pulling him closer to his chest while playing with wisps of ebony. He rests his head atop the boy's, whispering taunting consolations with hollow meanings.

"Now, won't you keep still for me so I can make you pretty?"

The ginger whispers in Shikaze's ear with a sneer, and with a flick of his wrist he slices a small inch upward on the skin. The force of the redhead's arm and his grip on the Player's head prevents the raven from opening his mouth, the pressure almost cracking his jaw. Shikaze could only squint his eyes shut as a salty tear runs in a thin line down his face, and he can't help but just bite down on harshly on his lips to stifle the pain. Seeing the compliance of the green-eyed mortal, Neku smiles in satisfaction and continues his work.

Skillful hands tighten around the handle, and they proceed to move in a smooth line. Upwards it goes, curving slightly, but moving agonisingly slowly to give time for the Player to appreciate every single second of pain. The boy's eyelids are clamped so tight, that they could almost rip already, and more tears peek out from under the dark lashes. Uncontrollably, Shikaze judders violently, pining for the permission to wring the Conductors neck and push him off. Alas, the poor boy can do nothing. He could only struggle to tire his mind further and go around in loops without an end.

The redhead still doesn't stop his smiling and cackling, as if he was an innocent boy playing in the park. The blade slowly ascends, droplets of blood leaking out of the fresh wounds and sliding slowly down on the Conductor's hands. Just a margin away at the corner of the raven's eyes, the knife stops a bit too rigorously. The Player's eyes, red and swollen open just a tiny crack to see the blade twinkling in the light and shining with his ruby blood.

Shikaze tries to swallow the lump that has made itself present in his throat, but even that just hurt. The rings of cartilage poking at the flesh of his neck are lined with bruises in the form of the ginger's tiny fingers, vivid as if painted directly with the colors of a gory midnight. Lethargically, the ginger withdraws the blade, licking the blood enticing him to drink up skimming around the edge. His adept tongue runs all over the blade eagerly, slicing not even the faintest line, and putting on a splendid show for his beloved Master.

Tiny sobs resonate on the dismal walls of the dungeon, muffled only by the Player's vicious biting on his tender, profusely bleeding lips.

"Oh, are you uncomfortable? Please, this will only take a short while-Neku-chan will be done adding the details in a moment~"

He giggles with his untainted voice, constricting his aching fingers once more in their place. The petite digits twitch even more in delight as the vibrations from his chokes and gasps tingle his fingertips. Raising the blade once more, he stabs it into a spot just a hair strand's breadth away from the injured corner of his lips. The cold metal sinks in just a centimeter, puncturing a line into the flesh. More crimson lines dribble down Shikaze's extremely pale cheek as the Conductor takes the liberty to engrave more slits resembling stitches of various sizes on the crooked extension of a smile.

As the redhead draws the last line, the raven exhales sharply, the sudden intake of breath painful at the same time relieving to his oxygen-deprived throat.

"There, there, that wasn't so bad, wasn't it? Now let's continue the embellishment~"

The Conductor sings to the boy despite a greeting of silence. Dismayed by the lack of a response, he grips the blade, and sticks it into the other corner of his mouth.

"Won't you answer me, Fukugawa-kun? Let everyone hear your beautiful, tormented melody~"

Howls rip the atmosphere of the living nightmare cacophonously as the blade severs the muscle beneath the broken skin, shredding the last fragments of tranquility in the room-that is, if any was left. Again, the once healthy, damaged flesh is ruptured, the meat inflaming exponentially while violently spurting out blood in exorbitant amounts.

The knife is extracted from its shallow depth in the boy's face, and the bittersweet syrup rolling down the serrated edge paints the Conductor's hands even darker than the captivating hue of seduction. Returning the lethal object back into the ornate, lacy garter on his thigh, Neku repositions his hands on the Player's face, cupping it gently with a mother's touch. He turns Shikaze's face to the group, revealing his terrified, emerald-eyed masterpiece to the party and the gratified Composer.

"Isn't a smile more pleasant to see than such a disheartening grimace?"

He chuckles mirthfully, the same beautiful, gullible look present but deceiving no more. All that is reflected is a gruesome lust for abuse and an obsessed desire to satisfy his Master whom he lavishly exalted.

Then, haggard digits finally enclose themselves around the single blank pin, and he finally breaks down.

Exhilarating, mitigating, invigorating-the feeling of being freed by the bonds of such restrictions made Shikaze exhale sharply. Stretching his body, he rises to his legs instantly, the joints and bones popping from long stagnancy but not breaking, unlike the bones under force applied by the Conductor.

The ginger, shocked, bears wide blue eyes set upon him intently, hands at the side of his bloody Lolita dress that marked his submission to his dearest Yoshiya-sama.

"SHIKAZE! Please, help us!"

"We're your friends!"

"Dammit, stop being an ass wipe and get us outta here!"

The medley of pleas attacking him from every direction gets his turbulent state even more chaotic, wiping his senses clean and leaving him utterly confused.

The sudden break of his hold over the previously helpless victims he thought he had in his vulturous grasp leaves the Conductor dumbfounded beyond all levels of comprehension. Stealing a glimpse at his Master, fearful and cowardly, the quite puzzled and bagatelle look of annoyance etched deeply on the Composer's face rips the boy's heart as the ashen-blonde raises an eyebrow in angered enquiry.

"Shikaze, save us!"

"Don' chu let us rot here yo, that 'aint fair!"

The continuous bawling of his former team goes on without hesitation, but it's as if the raven is deaf to them. When the momentary confusion passes by, however, he clears his head a few times before wrapping his shaky digits around the pin to unleash its power once more. All the time the ginger moved not even an inch in his place, frozen, never once making an attempt to move and stymie the raven he could've killed with a swipe of his claw a minute ago. Instead, the wide night sky-coloured eyes hold an emptiness in them, but not letting the seemingly statue-like body topple over in clumsiness.

Then the same elfin digits that have dipped themselves in the color of death thousands of times tremble tempestuously, and the same lips that have sung notes of praise for his divine Master part in protesting but chorus only silence. One could almost hear the beating of his heart pulsing agitatedly, following the beat of a ticking time bomb about to explode. The Players, driven by the thought of nothing but freedom, gyrate around in a frenzy, trying to escape a cruel fate even if such a destiny was inevitable.

Finally, the boy rasps a single sentence.

"I…failed to kill every sinner…"

No objection is imposed unto him as he stares unmindfully into the deep beyond.

"I…have failed…to satisfy Yoshiya-sama completely…"

Steadily, the beating of his heart races even faster as the repeated chanting and screaming of his failure in his head taunts him over and over again. But the Composer isn't bound to his seat, opposite to the boy standing so static and transfixed.

Creases of exasperation that were not supposed to be present on the angel's face appear as he narrows his eyes in displeasure. An annoyed sound escapes his thin lips, accompanied by a sour face flickering past once relaxed features.

The shrill sound of the chair scraping the floor loudly makes everyone whip their heads in his direction one more time only to be looking straight into the barrel of the loaded gun ready to shoot. The inky darkness carved deeply into the steel body bids them nothing but a silent, painless goodbye as Yoshiya twitches his finger on the trigger.

With every ring of the bullet coming after one another in a rapid succession, a life is taken with it. The vibrations from the gun as it kicks back every time, never once missing its target, reverberate through the Composer with a sensation that burst like sparks of energy down to his fingertips. It was as if the life that had been drained from the pitiful Players not too long ago breathed new life into the divine god, not only refreshing him but also increasing the opulent power that has been bestowed on him.

As the Players fall one by one, each contributes to the last notes of a finale that resembled a regurgitation of the previous chord, but always carrying something contradictory in it.

One bullet is left in the barrel, and as Yoshiya shoots the small metal shaped into a thing so lethal seems to slow down in its pace, slicing carefully into the thin layer of brittle transparency that the once heavy atmosphere has become. Then the few milliseconds where time's clockwork have rusted over pass by, leaving time to catch up at such incongruous speed.

The bullet slices through at a hyperdrive to bring dead silence.

However, there is no dead silence that follows.

Instead of the the long-awaited grandeur of an ending, the last Player runs on, into the long forgotten path that could only lead to a darkness that no one could say was less sinister than that of the destiny the Conductor was to bring upon them.

Sweat dripping from the clumped ebony strands splotched with dry blood refuse to leave his line of vision, only reminding him of the shadows threatening to swallow him up. Despite that, Shikaze only bolts down the putrid opening made of cracking cement blocks that revealed no sign of letting in the light.

"Missed."

Yoshiya clicks his tongue in slight frustration at the unforeseen flaw in the execution of his plan.

"Oh well, one mustn't cry over spilled milk," he replies to no one but himself.

Turning around on the heel of his shoe, he faces the Conductor who has fallen on his knees, head bowed down in acknowledgement of punishment.

"And here I am Neku, thinking that you would put up such a good show-only to be wasting my time watching such an amateur presentation from you. A terrible performance indeed, amen?"

As each admonishing remark falls from his lips, he takes a step closer to the boy bending lowly in a position of succumbing. Directly in front of the ginger Yoshiya stops, his stance wordlessly commanding the boy to kiss his feet, and he follows.

"Such a deplorable slave you are, aren't you? Well you do make me happy, but can't you even make it last? I am exceedingly disappointed in you, dear."

He bends down with a swan-like movement, meeting the boy's eye level as he tugs his chin upwards to look at him.

"Yoshiya-sama-aahh-…"

He desperately tries to reason out pathetically, but he is cut off by Yoshiya, who silences him softly. The pale boy engulfs the Conductor's warm lips with a short-lived kiss that was more than enough to tip him off the edge and break him down. Looking up at the angel with eyes whose hues were diluted and melted with tears, he begs for more as he reaches forward again to fulfill both of their selfish wishes. Burning flesh almost burnt by such intense desire wanting to be released is immediately frozen over by flesh colder and more rebuking than absolute zero as lips meet.

The redhead moans at the slightest contact, pushing himself forward to immediately close the space between them. He breaks off again after a brief moment, but the look in his eyes said otherwise from having enough. Again he lunges in for another kiss, gentle and soft like the first, as though like a child embarrassed to ask of such a petty little favour, but it only made him crave the taste of Yoshiya's sweet lips even more.

In between the little kisses, the Conductor grows even more famished from trying to satisfy himself with meagre methods, and the Composer could feel each one even more pressured than the last. Their lips touch again and again, only getting harsher and trying even harder to force them together in contrary to the dangerously burning passion pouring out.

Such zealousness in an exchange of communication is something that Neku wanted so much to have, something he wanted so much to share with his Master to compensate for the poor act he had let happen not too long ago. When he could no longer hold it in anymore, he lets his lips stay on Yoshiya's, opening his mouth wide to welcome the same deft, provocative tongue that could cajole the ginger to do things to break his limits.

When the ashen-blonde accepts the suggestion without another beat, Neku presses himself closer to eliminate the distance between them, giving him better access and baring himself, unashamed and obliging, to the one angel who is Yoshiya.

He glides his thin, ghost-like arms around his Master, moaning as their bodies are pressed together but even more so when the violet-eyed boy's tongue evokes a particular spot once more, giving him permission in his mind to pervert and misuse every part of his body like he was made only for him. So many times he has reiterated in his mind that his only true purpose is to satisfy Yoshiya-sama in every way; no objections in allowing the Composer to use him to satiate whatever need he has, be it physically, mentally, emotionally, or sexually abusing without thinking for another second.

Such a heated kiss could only be sustained by the Conductor for such a time, but his own need for air is nothing in his mind compared to his other more important priorities.

But sadly, in the middle of their vigorous exchange of passion, the boy shows signs of breaking off for air, driven by remnants of futile human instinct. However, what Yoshiya is exhibiting demurs entirely from the boy's unspoken request. The Composer continues to ravish his slave, forcing those lips to do even more than what little the boy had to offer at the moment. Suppressed gasps get caught up somewhere at the back of his throat for fear of displeasing his Master, slowly morphing into sharp choking as the sensation of Yoshiya's tongue skimming deep into his mouth explored by no one else but the angel rapidly consumes every scrap of oxygen he had left to give.

Neku could only hold it in for so long before his tongue ceases abruptly in responding to his Master's. Pale, possibly anorexic arms shake horribly as he constricts Yoshiya instinctively to hinder the painful coughing that has not only made him stop, but also distance his lips only a short reach from the ashen-blonde's.

In anger and disapproval, Yoshiya refuses to grant the boy his needs. Instead, he presses his lips relentlessly on the severely maltreated flesh, impelling him to do as his Master wished and mind nothing else. He forces his tongue in abusively, greedily tasting all he wanted and plaguing the suffering Neku even more. Tears roll down his face as he accepts the agonising punishment that he knew he could no longer take much of. The Conductor focuses rather on giving the Composer pleasure by kissing back yieldingly, and surrendering himself completely in the form of moans and gratified music weaved by his siren-like voice.

The ever-present choking that has become even more savage produces small but constant amounts of blood, flavouring the carrot-top's already tangy saliva that Yoshiya never got tired of. It only lures him in, letting himself take the bait of Neku's trap, but never getting caught. Lips grating, sharp teeth rasping, tongues dragging against each other sensually-the rewarding sensation makes the redhead know that he is doing a lot, but it is never enough.

Finally, the Composer lets go slowly, red threads of such sugary peculiar taste bridging them together. The Composer slides his eyes open, exposing just a crack of indigo blended with amethyst tints. Looking down in detest at his deplorable slave indeed, he traces along the wrinkled linings of the dress, smoothing it out a bit as his fingers travel on. Downwards they go, skimming lightly over the insanely smooth velvet before crawling over his slim hips and locking themselves behind his back. There, they wander off even more absent-mindedly towards the carefully tied ribbon that represented a weak security of the white skin of his back as their lips resume moving against one another's intensely.

The same bony digits tug on the knot, willing for it to come undone only for him, and he pulls even more at the lace to expose inch after inch more of the flesh he wanted to assault more than ever. Then the dress just slides off easily, down his shapely, nearly feminine thighs, his stocking-covered calves, and laying, abandoned and forgotten, by his feet. The Composer pulls away, only to admire the body bared to him in such a vulnerable way, and traces lines southward, making the boy moan at the simple gesture.

Yoshiya smiles upon hearing the pleasured sounds of acceptance, and with a wicked grin, he peels the already see-through layer of stockings right off, obviously not contented with just the torso of his Conductor. He pulls them down the boy's shaking legs with ease, pausing only to take off the gothic heels before every part, including his toes, was no longer hidden from view.

"Just one more piece of clothing, my dear."

The angel hums softly, eyes raking over the body briefly but deciding to settle for the lacy, pink, silk panty laying over the awfully distracting bulge on his crotch area. The same devious appendages stroke the protrusion gently in a way that could almost seem innocent, but actually wanting to ignite pleasure in their victim as they feel him up at a lethargic pace, not too slow to make him feel nothing, but slow enough that the ecstasy gradually building up in him tore him apart easily and made him want to scream out his Master's name.

His growing erection needed release badly, but he was sure that the now possessive stroking evolving into well-pressured pumps and circular motions on extremely sensitive parts said otherwise. All he could do was groan compliantly and shift every now and then to provide better views and angles of a body that was no longer his to own as a way of his participation in a little game that was made for his Master's sick entertainment.

It seems as if the euphoria swelling in him has only heightened in what seems to have been eternity, making him wonder when such bliss would stop and how much more of it he could take. He _needed_ to finally snap, he needed to climax urgently but he was so torn between the pleasure washing him numb in a forceful yet oddly comforting way and giving up to the whims of his human needs. Either way, it was obviously established that Yoshiya wouldn't let Neku have it the way he wanted it.

The moans and screams resonating its beautiful rendition of a symphony dedicated only to the Composer only rebound, driving him even more as the precum starting to leak out on the panty tingled the angel's fingers.

"Ahh-please, Yoshiya-sama-I-ah-I-I can't take any more of the p-pleasu-ahh! I-It's-s too mu-hah-ahh-!"

The poorly constructed sentence only breaks down even further as the slave's master smirks maliciously, digits tearing the sex-soaked panty right off to grab a bigger portion of the flesh. The cold temperature suddenly hitting his searing skin felt relieving and at the same time somewhat painful. Neku's breathing becomes feeble and ragged, trying to grab even the smallest scrap of air to keep him going.

Smiling even more than ever, the Composer just revels in the pleasure of inflicting suffering and sheer rapture on his uke, playing with his stiff member like it was his favorite toy. A simple hand job would normally be considered a kind of modest way to provide due amusement, but it was adequate for the boy who could only take in so much.

"Hah-ahh… Master-! I-I'm gonna-hah-AHHH!"

The statement is barely finished as he squirts all his load on the Composer's palm, screaming in ecstasy as he screams out his Master's name and takes his lips desperately. The feeling of emptying himself as he wraps his weak arms around his beloved for support soothes him, and he continues kissing, licking, and responding submissively to repay the favor.

Yoshiya pushes him down harshly, not taking his eyes off Neku, who doesn't mind at all the fact that his back was scraped gratingly on the rough ground, making new scars on once flawless skin. Such hungry, lustful eyes were devouring him, and instead of feeling defiled, he willingly accepts it and gave himself more. Laid down on the ground in such a powerless position, the boy looks straight into his Master's eyes with a look that beckoned him to do anything he wanted. He just looks down on his slave with the same grin plastered on his face, fingers tenderly tracing the many scars littered everywhere and bruises on notable places such as his hip bones and ribs.

"They're signs of your love for me, Master; reminders of the punishments you gave to your disloyal slave for his lack of fidelity to the one who deserves only the obedience that no one, especially me, can ever give."

The Conductor is rewarded with a shower of kisses trailing up on his sensitive neck, along his jawline, and on his moist, soft lips. Combing through the strands of sunset-colored hues, he caresses his only Conductor possessively, but only succeeding in making Neku tense up in a way that he was frightened because he couldn't help but trust something he knew entirely nothing about and at the same time he knew that the superiority he acknowledged was dangerously cunning, tempting his naive self so easily.

Despite that, the ashen-blonde places another kiss on beautifully blood-stained lips. His hands come to rest on the bruised skin on the boy's hips and he pulls him close in a death grip, the slight sweetness of the action contrasting greatly to his brutality moments ago, and he rests his Conductor's head on his shoulder while whispering softly in his ear.

"I love you, dear."

(~*~)

"Sir, here are the files of those Players that were erased during last Week's game."

"Thank you, Konishi. You may leave."

With a curt bow, she exits, leaving the Composer and Conductor alone. Thumbing through the data, his eyes roam over three of the Player files given to him.

_Name: Nagakami Tenshin _

_Age: 17_

_Cause of death: Died of car accident in the Scramble Crossing while trying to escape from the local police after being caught vandalising and destroying private property along with Irozumi Shoko._

_Offenses in the UG: Illegal cheating by manipulating Noise to his advantage._

_Status: Terminated from the Game._

_Name: Irozumi Shoko_

_Age: 16_

_Cause of death: Died of car accident in the Scramble Crossing while trying to escape from the local police after being caught vandalising and destroying private property along with Nagakami Tenshin._

_Offenses in the UG: Illegal cheating by using influence on the RG to move objects and kill those who are alive. Illegal cheating by using influence on the RG to trick those who are alive to aid them in missions._

_Status: Terminated from the Game._

_Name: Fukugawa Shikaze_

_Age: 17_

_Cause of death: Shot by local police near the heart after trying to kill them and bled to death. Caught in acts of juvenile delinquency along with Nagakami Tenshin and Irozumi Shoko_

_Offenses in the UG: Stealing items from certain Reapers such as illegal pins to avoid walls, erase Reapers and commit other offenses._

_Status: Unknown_

"Hmm, this is interesting, isn't it, Neku?"

The Composer gestures to his Conductor, who just shrugs his shoulders gracefully and resumes licking on his Master's neck.

Yoshiya's line of sight remains on the file of Fukugawa Shikaze, and he only smirks.

"You may have gotten away this time, but let's see what happens next. Besides, I'm craving for some suspense in this little game now. Wouldn't we like to know the results?"

_Status: Unknown_

"Everything will be revealed in the end. Just wait, and you'll see, Fukugawa."

-END-


End file.
